~Bailey's POV~
I'm awoken by a flash of bright light and a clicking shutter noise.
"Shoot!" Jordan hisses.
I almost burst out laughing. Who says 'shoot' anymore? Cracking my eyes open, I find myself in between two bodies.
"Why the hell am I in a human sandwich?"
"Shut up, Bailey, and go back to sleep!" Demi groans, smacking my face with a pillow.
I blindly swat at her.
"Jordan, what the hell are you doing?" I wonder, sitting up and rubbing sleep dust from my eyes.
"Taking a picture."
"Why?"
"You three just look so adorable!" She coos, causing me to roll my eyes. "I mean, you, Bailey, resemble both of them. There's no denying it."
I shoot her a 'you've been playing the real-life version of Flappy Bird for far too long' expression. I turn my head to look at the sleeping log that is Nick before turning back to her.
"I understand how I resemble Demi, but how the fuck do I resemble Nick?"
"Language, Bailey," Demi scolds, causing me to roll my eyes.
Damn. Does her bitchy, strict mode come complete with an 'off' switch? Maybe I should read the manual.
Jordan opens her mouth to, I'm assuming, answer me but is cut off.
"Why are girls so fucking loud in the morning?" Nick grumbles.
Demi clamps her hand over my mouth.
"However your perverted little mind translated that question, keep it to yourself."
I smirk as she removes her hand from my mouth.
"I must have inherited my perverted mind from somebody, right?"
"It sure as hell wasn't from me," she snorts.
"Who are you trying to fool, Demetria?" Nick teases.
"I don't recall anybody asking you, Nicholas."
"Woah! Who decided we were suddenly using our legit first names?"
"It was spontaneous," Jordan dryly explains with an eye-roll.
"No fair!" I whine. "Demi, why couldn't you have named Jordan something else?"
"Thanks, Bailey," Jordan sarcastically thanks.
"I think my sarcasm is rubbing off on you," I grin.
"One sarcastic daughter is enough, thank you very much," Demi pipes up.
"Which brings us back to my original point: you're the common denominator in this equation, Demi," I shrug, then pause "Did I use that term correctly?" I cock my head to the side.
"Demi and I were homeschooled," Nick immediately deflects my question. "But I think it has something to do with fractions."
I place my gaze on Jordan, awaiting an answer.
"I'm on vacation from school; therefore, math is the least of my worries," she shrugs.
"It's always the least of my worries. Now, why are you two in my bed?"
"Technically speaking, it's my bed," Nick points out.
"Technically speaking, you didn't answer my question," I roll my eyes.
"Is it a crime to sleep in the same bed as my daughter?" Demi inquires.
"Yes," I nod. "It's called maternal smothering."
She rolls her eyes.
"Regardless, that still doesn't explain Nick," I continue.
"Paternal smothering?" Jordan suggests.
"He's not my dad."
"He sure looks like he is," she mutters under her breath, as if not wanting anyone else to hear.
I ignore her, yet silently wonder what she means by that.
"Nick, if you do not move, I won't hesitate to climb over you," I warn.
He doesn't move. Grumbling curse words under my breath, I proceed to climb over him.
"Bailey, get your bony knee out of my ribcage!"
I roll my eyes at his obvious exaggeration. I'm not bony, quite the opposite in fact. Although my bones do sometimes jutt out, I'm not bony. Bony is used to classify the under-weight and the ill, not walking hippos, like myself. Suddenly, he shifts from umderneath me. With a yelp, I tumble off of him and onto the floor. Jordan's loud peals of laughter follow seconds later. Using my elbows to prop my head up, I glare at her, but she's too busy laughing her ass off at my expense to notice. Eyeing a pair of Nick's boots near the bed, I pick one of the shoes up and chuck it at her hunched over form.
"Ow!" She squeaks before dramatically collapsing onto the floor.
I roll my eyes. Like mother, like daughter.
"I have another shoe," I taunt.
"I'm up!" She exclaims with hands up in surrender.
I smirk deviously, motioning for her to come towards me. She warily obeys, soon joining my side. I glance upwards and point as she watches. I then grip the edge of the un-tucked comforter and gently tug it towards my stomach. Her mouth forms an 'O' shape as she nods. She grips a piece of the comforter, too.
"One," I silently mouth to her. "Two. Three."
We forcibly pull the comforter with all of our strength, yanking it in the opposite direction of the bed. With startled exclaimations and hissed curse words, both Demi and Nick tumble to the floor. A loud burst of laughter escapes my lips as they land in a compromising position with her on top of him. I snatch Demi's phone off of the nightstand and take a picture of the two. I lock the photo with a four digit code so that Demi can't delete it.
"Hailey Ariana Lovato," she growls.
"She used my legit first name," I sober up my laughter, turning towards Jordan. "Run!"
We only make it, like, two steps before we crash into each other within the doorway.
"Shit! Jordan, move, and let me out first. You be the fucking bait!" I push her behind me and haul ass down the hallway, towards the stairs.
"She's gaining on us!" Jordan yells from behind. "And he's right behind her!"
I somehow find myself in the backyard. Shifting my gaze wildly around the yard, I discover nothing useful except a water hose and a large, in-ground pool. Hearing the pounding of many foot-steps approaching, I dash for the water hose. I quickly turn the knob and un-wind the hose, spreading it out to remove all of the kinks. Water gushes out, spilling across the patio and spreading out like veins in a hand. Jordan soon runs out of the house.
"Get over here!" I call out. "And hand me that," I add, referring to an adjustable nozzle for the hose that I didn't notice setting on the table before.
Her bare feet slap against the cement as she hurries towards me. Tossing me the nozzle, I catch it and hastily screw it onto the water hose, ignoring the frigid water spraying me. I turn the nozzle to a setting that shoots out the water in one continous, slightly painful beam, much like one that a firefighter uses.
"Ready?" I smirk, aiming the nozzle where Demi and Nick will exit the house.
"Ready."
As soon as the two step onto the patio, I squeeze the nozzle trigger, causing the water to shoot towards them. Demi squeals when the cold water blasts her. Handing the hose to Jordan, I lower myself to the damp cement in a laughing fit.
"Bailey, I'd get up if I were you," Jordan warns.
Through eyes that are blurry from tears of laughter, I see Demi making her way towards me.
"Oh, shit," I mumble.
I crawl in the opposite direction from her. Just as I'm about to push myself to my feet, someone grabs my ankle.
"Let me go, Demi!"
"Nope."
With that, she scoops me up into her arms as I squirm in her grasp. She walks to the edge of the pool.
"Any last words?"
"Can I have my phone back before I plunge to my death?"
She rolls her eyes before throwing me into the air. I plug my nose with my thumb and index finger on my left hand and flip her off with my middle finger on my right hand. I land on my back as the cold water engulfs me. The chemicals in the water cause my healing cuts to burn and sting, as if a thousand wasps are attacking my skin. To my dismay, I emit a pathetic, muffled whimper. As I'm scrambling to the surface, I hear a splash.
"Jordan Taylor Lovato!" Demi gasps as my head breaks through the surface of the water.
Jordan laughs at Demi, who is now with me in the pool. Now, I'm no rocket scientist or anything, but I'm inferring that Jordan somehow managed to push Demi into the pool. Just a guess.
"Out of all of the days to wear a white shirt," I chuckle at Demi, ignoring how the pain from my cuts is now becoming a numb sensation.
She narrows her eyes at me. Nick tosses a now screaming Jordan into the pool, much like Demi did to me.
"Nick, help me out of the pool," I command in a sickly sweet tone.
"Why? So you can drag me in with you? I don't think so."
I frown, mentally cursing him.
"Can you at least help me out?" Demi inquires.
He shuffles closer to the edge of the pool and outstretches a hand for her to grab onto. So, he's willing to help her out of the pool with no questions asked but not me? What the actual fuck? Demi takes his hand and yanks him towards her. Backing up, she laughs as he flops into the water. My jaw drops as I laugh silently, too stunned that she just did that to make any sound.
"Demetria Devonne Lovato!"
She justs sticks her tongue out at him before scrambling onto the patio. She grabs her phone from the table and fiddles with it for a couple of moments. I'm assuming, by the lack of pissed of yells, she doesn't notice the photo that I added to her gallery. A familiar beat begins to play, but she stops it as soon as it begins. Then, the chorus of the same song plays.
"So, baby, whenever you're ready-eh-eh-eh-eh," Demi mouths. " When you're ready come and get it-na-na-na-na, na-na-na-na, na-na-na-na.
When you're ready come and get it-na-na-na-na-na-na-na-na-na-na-na-na."
I paddle my way over to Nick as Demi begins to dance to the song. Stopping beside him, I glance between him and Demi and back again.
"You're drooling," I tease.
He glares at me. I hold my hands up in surrender.
"Just stating the obvious," I mumble, resisting a chuckle. "But I don't blame you for staring."
He stares at me with raised eyebrows and a 'WTF?' expression.
"The small 'Lovatic' part of me is thinking," I pause, glancing at him. "Well, you probably don't want to know what the small 'Lovatic' part of me is thinking. The daughter part of me, however, is screaming at her, saying-,"
"Mom, you're not seventeen, so quit dancing like you are!" Jordan yells.
"Well, saying something along the lines of that," I conclude before swimming towards the edge of the pool and climbing out.
"Can we all go inside now?" I whine. "It's fucking cold."
"Go take a hot shower and change into some warm clothes," Demi tells me.
"I don't obey orders."
"Then, I guess you'll be obtaining frost-bite," she shrugs.
"That's child neglect."
"I call it tough love."
"I'll be in one of the showers" Jordan announces, breezing by us.
I shower in the bathroom attached to the guest bedroom that I slept in last night. As I lather shampoo into my hair, I cringe as I recall everything that happened last night.
"Mommy?" I whimpered. "Mommy, please don't let him hurt me," I begged.
I clench my hair, cursing myself for being so stupid, so pathetic, so vulnerable, so weak. How could I have let my sarcastic walls drop so fast and so low? Thank God she didn't comment on it this morning or else I would've denied everything.
She ran her fingers through my hair.
"I promise I'll never let anyone hurt you ever again," she whispered into my ear, before kissing my cheek.
Although I hate to admit, I got that whole warm and fuzzy feeling inside when she said that. If you tell her I admitted that, not only will I deny it, but I will bite you. My track record with promises have always been broken, though, so I don't expect her to keep hers, especially when she's technically the indirect cause of most of my pain.
"We won't let anyone hurt her or Jordan," Nick stated, sounding quite serious.
I was shocked to hear him say that, especially because he sounded so sincere. I know that him and Demi are good friends, but it's not his obligation to protect neither Jordan nor me.
"Bailey, could you hurry up?" Jordan pounds on the bathroom door. "I'm bored!"
With a chuckle, I hurriedly finish my shower. After slipping into a pair of undergarments, I slip my legs into black leggings followed by jean shorts. Out of respect for Nick's home, I ditch shoes and only wear socks on my feet. After tossing a baggy, white tee-shirt over my head, I finish my outfit off with a long-chained, cross necklace and a light amount of makeup. Tossing my towel into the hamper and scooping up my dirty clothes, I unlock the bathroom door.
"Took you long enough," Jordan chimes from the bed.
I shake my head with a small smile, shoving my dirty clothes into the purse that Demi is letting me use.
"Mom and Nick are downstairs cooking a late breakfast."
"Demi? Cooking?" I snort.
"Mom can cook!" Jordan defends, causing me to arch an eyebrow. "Some things," she mutters.
I smirk, joining her on the bed and sitting criss-crossed across from her.
"So..." Jordan trails off.
"So..." I mock.
"Do you..." she shakes her head.
"Do I what?"
"Do you, I don't know, notice anything odd between mom and Nick?" She hesitantly inquires.
"Define odd."
"Like, do they seem too close to you?"
I ponder over this. In all honesty, they do, but I sure as hell am not going to tell Jordan that.
"I don't think so," I lie. "I mean, they're really good friends, like siblings even."
"Do you honestly believe that they slept together during that tour?"
"No way!" I truthfully exclaim. "I just like teasing them. It's funny to watch Demi squirm."
"You're so mean," she grins.
"I don't recall anyone ever calling me nice," I shrug.
"Do you want to play 'screw, marry, or kill'?" She randomly asks.
"Sure."
"Okay, um, Nick Jonas, Kevin Jonas, and Joe Jonas."
"You don't honestly expect me to be able to choose, right? I mean, they're the Jo Bros!" I state in a 'duh' tone, causing her to roll her eyes. "Fine," I sigh. "Um, Nick Jonas to marry, definitely, because he's so sweet, and he just seems like the kindest out of the three. Kevin Jonas to screw and Joe Jonas to kill. Okay, you're next. So, Ryan Gosling, Justin Timberlake, and, um, Leonardo Di Caprio?"
"For someone who is the opposite of romantic, you sure do pick a good set of hearthrobs," she observes, allowing it my turn to roll my eyes. "Um, don't tell mom, but I would screw Leonardo Di Caprio, marry Ryan Gosling because what girl doesn't like The Notebook, and I guess that leaves me with killing Justin Timberlake, as much as I hate to say it."
I gasp dramatically.
"There is no way we're sisters! You do not simply kill Justin Timberlake! Well, at least, not without doing him first."
She rolls her eyes.
"Well, excuse me for not having as perverted a mind as you do," she pauses. "I could see you being one of the women on mom's crime shows who screws the guy, stabs him to death, and ditches his body in the ocean or something!"
"Good to see you have such faith in me," I laugh."Well, at least you're getting to know the real me now. I've known many many women in my time who do just that, ya know?" I smirk and wiggle my eyebrows.
She feigns a disgusted gag.
"How am I supposed to have good faith in you when you say and do stuff like that? Gosh, your head is always in the gutter, isn't it?"
"Nope. Sometimes it's glugging down shots of tequila while everyone around me shouts 'Chug, chug, chug, chug!' And sometimes it's thinking up some quite advanced sarcastic responses that leave people wondering if the fuck-up fairy just visited, and sometimes it's tainting innocent little minds like yours. Although perversion is the first place it goes, so I suppose, in a way, you're quite right."
She gapes at me.
"I-I, um," she pauses. "My mind isn't innocent! I'm not a five year old, Bailey!" She splutters.
"Hey, I'm not judging," I shrug. "It's better you're like you than like me. I mean, Heaven won't take me because of the long list of sins I've managed to complete in my fourteen years on this planet, and Hell won't let me in because they're afraid I'll take over."
She just blinks at me.
"Amd this is why I worry about you sometimes."
I gawp at her in shock.
"Worry? You? You worry about me?" I idiotically question.
"I'm your sister, Bailey! Why wouldn't I worry about you?"
"Because I'm perfectly capable of taking care of myself, having survived fourteen years alone to fend for myself. Not to mention that I'm the older sister here!"
"You may be perfectly capable of doing so, but you shouldn't have to do so. I can't even begin to imagine what you went through, but now you have mom and myself. We won't allow you to fend for yourself," she pauses. "Plus, you may be older, but sometimes I question your age," she smirks, easing the sudden serious mood.
"First of all," I place hand on her shoulder and lightly shake her. "Where's my sister, you alien that majors in philosophy? What did you do with her? Let her go! I never got to tell her to-to....wear her tin foil hat! Second of all, you question my age? Since when have I ever showed a lower standard of my age? And, just for the record, I've done a pretty good job of looking after myself, and I don't need anybody's help. Besides, when has 'you shouldn't have to' ever stopped anything or anyone?"
"Aw, I love you, too, Bailey," she coos sarcastically, adding an eye-roll. "Since when have you ever showed a lower standard of your age? Well, you did just call me an alien, and you told me I should wear a tin foil hat. Add in the fact that you basically scream from the rooftops everyday that our mom slept with Nick Jonas, which is based off of nothing but the wild thoughts that run a muck within your head, I can infer that your age is much lower than that of which we think. Or at least your mental age is," she grins innocently. "And, also just for the record, you may have done a pretty good job of looking after yourself, but it's always okay to ask for help. Asking for help doesn't mean you're weak, Bailey, if that's what you think."
"She's lying," my demons sneer. "Only pathetic excuses for human beings ask for help. You're stronger than that. You're better than that."
"I thought we were playing a game here!" I exclaim, yearning to change the subject. "Since when did we get onto the track of philosophy?"
She raises an eyebrow. I plaster my poker face on as a shiver of fear shoots up my spine. I hope that she doesn't suspect anything.
"Touché, Bailey. Game on then."
I almost let out a sigh of relief. That was way too close for my liking.
"Last time I checked, it was your turn," I remind.
She rolls her eyes.
"Zac Efron, Harry Styles, and Demi Lovato," she smirks.
"Oh, God! That's just cruel, Jordan! Oh, man! Ew! Um....screw Zac Efron, marry Demi, and kill Harry Styles. If you EVER tell Demi I said that, you will never see the light of day. I'm already visualising the duct-tape over your mouth. And I only picked Demi to marry so that we don't have to," I scrunch my face up in disgust, "you know, rock the bed."
She throws her head back and laughs loudly.
"You could've chosen to kill her and marry Harry."
Hey, that rhymes! Marry and Harry rhyme! I wonder what all of those Directioners think about that...
"It feels sort of wrong killing your own mother, though. I mean, I have a heart, much to your surprise! I know she made some really stupid mistakes, many of them deciding the future of my life, but she doesn't deserve to be killed for that! Anyway, now it's my turn, and I choose Wilmer Valderrama, Demi Lovato, and Nick Jonas."
"You have a heart?" She snorts. "Maybe one like The Grinch!" She pauses. "I would," she sighs, "I would screw Nick, marry mom, and kill my dad."
"I'm going to ignore that first comment for your own safety, and is there any particular reason as to why you would work in that order?"
"You mean, why would I kill my own dad?"
"Well, yeah. I mean, I would've done that, too, but he's not my dad."
"Nick makes mom so happy, Bailey. You'd have to be blind to not see that. And my dad he-he hurt you, and he hurt mom, and I-I haven't felt safe around him for a while now. I shouldn't feel scared around my own dad, right?" Her eyes are glassy from tears that have yet to fall.
"No," I firmly reply. "Nobody should feel scared around their own father, and nobody should feel scared around their own husband, and that's a burden you've had to bare, even though you did not bring it upon yourself. I'm sorry that I'm terrible with words and that I can never find the right words to say to comfort somebody and to make them feel better instead of worse, but what I do know is that you're strong. You're strong for fighting through the challenges you've faced, even when people believe that life is just all rainbows, sunshine, and mermaid sex. You're strong for not breaking down in front of Demi and your dad, even though you have every right to, and I wouldn't blame you if you did so. You're strong for smiling every day. You're just the eptiome of strong!"
That sounded so cheesy that I honestly want to go involuntarily puke in the toilet....and then drown myself in it.
"I'm not strong, Bailey! I'm just some spoiled, rich, brat who's the daughter of two celebrities. You, however, are the strongest person I know, and I admire you because of that; I look up to you because of that."
"I don't know which Jordan you've been hanging out with, but the Jordan I know happens to be very resourceful, smart, funny, and strong. Note that, S-T-R-O-N-G. You got that? Good."
She rolls her eyes.
"You haven't even known me for a month," she points out.
"Call it sisterly instinct! It's kind of like twin telepathy powers, except we can't do any of that epic shit; we just kind of know more about each other without talking."
She raises her eyebrows while wearing a smirk.
"What's my favorite color?"
That hideous purse automatically pops into my mind.
"Judging by your room, your accessories, and your clothing, I can make the assumption that your favorite color, Jordan Taylor Lovato, is pink. But do you want to see real magic?"
"You not using sarcasm for more than five minutes is not magic."
I laugh dryly.
"Seriously! Do you want to see a magic trick?"
"Maybe I am funny!" She grins cheekily. "Sure, Bailey. Enlighten me on this supposed magic trick."
"Okay, now, choose a number between one and ten. Multiply that number by six, then divide it by two, then subtract the original number you chose. Now, close your eyes. It's dark, isn't it? Poof! Magic!"
She opens her eyes, then blinks at me.
"I feel like shoving you off of this bed right now. Here's a tip: never get a job as a magician."
"What about a job as a magician's assistant? Like, I hate the outfits, but magicians always have these suspicious, mysterious assistants that drift away after a while and form their own acts. I mean, have you ever seen that old 2013 movie called 'Now You See Me'? I loved the assistant that drifted off from her boss' act. Henley Reeves, I think her name was. At the start of the movie, she jumped into a tank of water and had these guys lock her in, then, when the timer went off, all these piranhas were dropped into the tank with her because she hadn't pulled a Houdini and managed to get out of the cuffs fast enough. So, then everyone started trying to get her out, but the tank filled with her blood, and everyone was, like, freaking out. Then, she reappeared behind them, laughing and saying "Whoever thought up this trick was sick!" I want to be that kind of magician's assistant!"
"So, just to clarify, you want to be the kind of magician's assistant that scares the living daylights out of the public and gives nightmares to children?"
"Now you got it!"
She just shakes her head, becoming silent for a moment.
"Okay, I have to ask, where do you get your sarcasm?"
"Hell if I know" I snort. "I don't know who my dad is, and Demi isn't this sarcastic, not even when I annoy her," I shrug. "Anyways, I don't have a sarcasm problem, if that's what you're implying. You just have a perception problem!"
"We can just say that you get your sarcasm from me, even though you're older," she mutters. "But you're so tiny that people could easily mistake you as being younger," I deliberately ignore her 'tiny' comment because I don't fancy raising suspicion by correcting her. "Go have a conversation with a group of strangers, and then ask them if you don't have a sarcasm problem. I'm no mind reader or anything, but I think they'll agree with me in saying that you do have a sarcasm problem."
"Why not just send to an AA meeting right now? Hello, my name is Bailey, and I suffer from ESD also known as Extreme Sarcasm Disorder. As of today, I've been zero days clean."
"Well, for starters, you're not an alcoholic, and the meetings would just be money down the drain because as of tomorrow you'd be zero days clean, as of next week you'd be zero days clean, as of next month you'd be zero days clean...do you get my point?"
"Yeah, you're right! Me without sarcasm is like Homer without beer!"
"The Simpsons, really?"
"What? Bart is the shit, Lisa's kind of nerdy, though, and Maggie, well, nobody really gives a damn about her."
"So, in other words, Bart's me, Lisa's you, and I now know what your opinion is on babies; it's not a good opinion!"
"Excuse me? You did not just say that you are Bart! Last time I checked, you were a girly-girl. I, however, ride a skate-board like an expert! Besides, Bart's older. Demi can be Maggie, which I feel that the reason behind is obvious."
She scoffs.
"I know how to ride a skateboard; I just don't choose to, thank you very much!"
I don't believe her for one second.
"As for mom, you two need counseling, and I'm talking about Dr. Phil type counseling."
I snort.
"Oh, yes, because out of everyone in this family, I'm the one who needs counseling with Demi," I sarcastically agree. "I'm the only one in this fam-...whatever we are that actually puts the 'fun' back in 'dysfunctional'."
"If by 'fun' you mean a sarcastic, devious, cursing, prankster, then yes, yes you do put the 'fun' back in 'dysfunctional," she rolls her eyes.
Taking her words as a compliment, to my dismay, I blush modestly.
"Thanks. I do try."
She slaps the palm of her hand against her forehead.
"Not a compliment, Bailey! Well, at least it's not in my book."
I frown. I honestly thought that was a compliment!
"Oh, well, I'm still taking it as a compliment because it's the closest I've ever gotten."
"Way to be depressing, Bailey! Jeez! That's just sad! In that case, you're beautiful, you're funny, you're-,"
"Shh, Jordan, shh! You're not allowed to compliment me because I'm the oldest."
And because I don't believe you.
And because I don't deserve compliments.
And because all compliments that I receive are lies.
"I'm supposed to compliment you! As for being depressing, did you honestly expect me to not ruin the moment?" I sigh. "Oh, my dear girl, poor, poor, naive Jordan. It will forever be my goal to ruin any moment, and I have achieved that goal in this conversation! I didn't mean it, silly," I lie.
Of course I'm lying. Who would ever have been dumb enough to compliment me?
"I was just trying to ruin the moment. It's what I was born to do, but don't tell Demi I said that."
All goes quiet. It is times like now when I wish that I could read minds.
"I've realized something," she suddenly mumbles.
"What's that, dearest sister? Enlighten me on your colossal revelation!"
"What I've realized is that the closer we're becoming, the more the phrases 'don't tell mom' and 'don't tell Demi' are popping up in our conversations. It's weird for me, being raised up to tell her everything that happens in my life."
"Stick around, Jordan. It won't be long until I've convinced you not to tell anyone anything."
Yes, I am realizing how awful that sounded. Why can't I just be a good big sister?
"Personally, I've learned that most of us kids are all in it together. Being bounced around from group home to group home, I soon learned that all of the kids, like myself, came from relatively similar backgrounds. We all tried to stick up for each other, for the most part. It was always kids fighting for survival against the adults. I suppose I've just grown accustomed to it now, and it feels strange to even think about confessing anything to an adult. So, it's natural for me to go to you, though you, having Demi as the most major influential factor in your life, draw more naturally towards her because, really, you're all each other has. I'm just tagging along for the adventure until I fall off of the back of this recklessly driven motorbike. But, I suppose, you could've already guessed it was wrecklessly driven with Demi's driving and all."
She peers at me curiously.
"Bailey, are you-are you scared that mom's going to leave you again?" She hesitantly inquires.
I shift in place, uncomfortable with the topic. I chew on my bottom lip as I stare at my lap, debating about how I should answer her inquiry. Although it may not seem like it to your average person, the question she just asked me is a huge question.
"I'm not saying that I'm scared," I slowly begin. "Because I'm way too badass to be scared, but it's always better to prepare for the worst, which includes never expecting somebody to stay. Even your own shadow leaves you when you're in the darkness, Jordan."
Suddenly, she flings herself at me, engulfing me in a bone-crushing hug.
"Everybody gets scared, Bailey," she whispers into my ear. "She won't leave you again, Bailey, because I won't allow her to. I won't leave you ever. You're stuck with us now whether you like it or not."
After getting over the shock of being hugged, I hesitantly return the embrace. Having not being accustomed to hugs on a weekly bas-...well, really, not ever, I awkwardly pat her back, grimacing slightly at how foreign this is for me.
"I'm not scared, Jordan. Really, I'm not," I insist. "But I do hope that I don't lose you," I truthfully inform. "And, I guess I can tolerate Demi," I grumble.
She chuckles and releases me.
"As long as I'm still breathing and my heart's still beating, you'll never lose me. Even after then, we can roam the globe as ghosts, haunting and frightening people. As for mom, you'll warm up to her eventually. Yeah, she can be annoying at times...a lot of times...but she means well."
"You're starting to sound like one of the people off of those paranormal shows Demi likes to watch," I joke. "I know she means well..."
"Do you, honestly? I mean, from my perspective, it seems as if you kind of loathe her for giving you up."
"Nah, that's just my personality. Don't tell anybody I ever told you this, okay? But I adopted these tactics, so I could survive on my own. Sarcasm is one of those tactics."
"You need to let your walls down, Bailey, and drop the facade. You and mom both have walls built so high around ya'll that hardly anybody can even attempt to break them down. You need to quit trying to push people away, and let them in instead."
I know she's right, but I won't be doing any of that until Hell freezes over.
"Since when did you become Dr. Phil? I wouldn't be surprised if you started drawling in a heavier Texan accent 'Let's start puttin' verbs in our sentences, ya'll!'"
She arches an eyebrow.
"What? My adoptive mom watched a lot of those types of shows, so I learned his catchphrases," I shrug.
She laughs.
"In my defense, I'm Demi Lovato's daughter; therefore, I've learned quite a bit of her inspirational talk. You're next, though. We'll both be the next Dr. Phil."
"The day I learn from your mother is the day that I become a sell-out. Don't get me wrong, it's inspirational and all, but it's just not for me," I shrug.
Yes, I am a Lovatic. No, I do not hang onto every syllable that Demi has ever uttered. I'm not a crazed fan-girl (especially since living with her is almost intolerable), and she's not God. Get it? Got it? Good.
Jordan rolls her eyes.
"Our mother, Bailey, our mother," she corrects. "Get used to saying it."
"Your mother, Jordan, your mother," I mock. "It's not changing."
"What's not changing?"
Speak of the devil and the devil will appear.
"Just our answers for 'screw, marry, or kill," I easily lie.
She shakes her head.
"Food's ready," she announces.
Jordan scrambles off of the bed, but I hold her back. Demi arches an eyebrow as I mischieviously smirk.
"We'll only go downstairs if you play a round of 'screw, marry, or kill'."
"I hate to break it to you, sweetheart, but it doesn't work like that."
"It can."
"No it can't. Let's go."
"Why can't it?
She rolls her eyes.
"Because I'm your mother, and what I say goes."
"Plus, she's already married," Jordan chimes.
"You're right," I rise to my feet. "Let's go eat," I approach a triumphant looking Demi and quickly grab her left hand, removing her wedding ring and shoving it into my pocket.
"Give me my ring back, Bailey!"
"Not until you play."
"This is ridiculous," she huffs.
"I don't know about you, but Jordan and I are kind of starving."
"Then, give me my ring back, and we can all go downstairs."
"Nope," I deny, popping the "p".
"Fine," she caves through gritted teeth.
"Fine as in you'll play?"
With another eye roll, she sighs and leans against the doorframe.
"It's not like I really have much of a legal choice," she grumbles.
"'Screw, marry, or kill' Wilmer Valderrama, Nick Jonas, and Joe Jonas."
"Seriously?" She wonders with raised eyebrows.
I nod.
"I think I would kill Joe," she slowly states.
I knew it. I widen my smirk, knowing that she has placed herself into a slight predicament. As if just realizing it herself, her eyes narrow on me.
"You did this on purpose."
"What did I do?" I innocently bat my eyelashes.
"Answer honestly, mom," Jordan pipes up with a giggle.
"Marry Wilmer and screw Nick," she grumbles with another eye roll.
"What was that?" I taunt, cupping my ear.
"Give me my ring back."
I drop her ring into her outstretched hand.
"Nick!" I scream, darting past her. "Demi wants to fu-," She clamps her hand over my mouth as we reach the bottom of the staircase.
"What?" Nick arches an eyebrow at us.
"Nothing," Demi chirps.
I lick her hand.
"Ew! Did you just lick my hand?" She releases me, hastily wiping her hand on her jeans.
"Demi wants to fuck you," I rush out.
"I never said those exact words," Demi defends, her face tinting red.
"I'm confused," Nick glances between the two of us
"'Screw, marry, or kill'," Jordan explains, walking down the staircase.
"Wilmer, you, and your brother, Joe," I add.
"Marry Wilmer, screw me, and kill Joe?"
Demi nods. He snorts.
"In my opinion, you should've killed Wilmer because he hurt you, Bailey, and Jordan, screw Joe because it would've been factual, and...oh, shit."
"You people make this way too easy!" I laugh.
"I-I mean, uh, maybe you should've switched Joe and me. At least then it would have been somewhat factual," he changes answers as I sober up my loud laugh.
"Well, technically..."
"Save it, Bailey," Demi orders.
"Can you three continue your weird-fest another time?" Jordan questions. "I'm starving."
"When am I getting my phone back?" I ask Demi, slicing the french toast that is on my plate.
"When I feel like giving it back to you."
"So, never?"
"Never say never."
"Don't quote Bieber!" I groan.
"Good thing I didn't," she smirks.
Biting my tongue, I drown my now sliced french toast in syrup. I've barely managed to shove a forkfull into my mouth when a loud, shrill sound startles everyone.
"Sorry!" Jordan apologizes, her face a bright red shade that reminds me of Rudolph's nose. "Hello?" She answers her phone, seeming to not check the caller I.D.
I never realized that we have the same phone case.
"Oh, hi, daddy."
As if there wasn't already enough tension. Demi's fork is gripped so tightly in her hand that her knuckles are the color of snow.
"Yeah, she's here. Okay. Bye, dad. Love you, too."
Covering the mouth piece, she thrusts the phone towards Demi. With a clenched jaw, she takes the phone.
"I'll be outside," she informs, leaving the table.
Jordan winces when the front door slams.
"Are you okay?" I softly wonder.
She nods in response, gaze locked on her plate even though her hands are at her sides.
"I think I just lost my appetite," she sighs.
"Want me to dump your plate? I'm done, too."
"If you don't mind."
I scrape the remainder of our food down the garbage disposal and flip the switch.
After purging up the very little food that I did eat, I return downstairs.
"I'm going to go check on Demi," Nick mumbles.
And then there were two....
~
~
~Nick's POV~
~
~
I find Demi sitting on the ground with her back pressed against the house. Her knees are bent, legs brought inward in an attempt at self-comfort. Her arms are wrapped tightly around her legs, just below her knees. Her face is shoved into her legs, her arms acting as a bit of a wall, preventing me from seeing her face.
"Dems?"
She doesn't move.
"Talk to me, Demi."
She shakes her head.
"Please?"
She slowly lifts her head, allowing me to see her red, tear-stained face and slightly bloodshot eyes. I instinctively sit beside her, wrapping my arms around her. She clings to me as if her life depends on it, burring her face into my tee-shirt and releasing sobs that cause me to feel as if somebody has embedded a knife into my heart and is now twisting and turning the blade. I whisper sweet nothings to her, trying to calm her down. When her sobs finally manage to cease, she leans away from me with a sniffle, dragging her hands over her moist cheeks in an effort to wipe the tears away. I gently push her hands away from her face and wipe her tears myself. When done, I sit quietly, waiting for her to tell me what happened. She sighs heavily, sounding exhausted.
"He, uh, he told me to sign the papers."
"What papers?"
"The divorce papers."
Not knowing what to say, I say nothing. I honestly want to kill Wilmer. He has no right to treat neither Demi nor Jordan the way that he does, and he sure as hell has no right to treat my daughter the way that he does.
"The whole time that he was ranting and raving about me and as to why we should get a divorce, he never mentioned Jordan once. Not once, Nick! It was as if she didn't even exist!"
I remain silent, debating on whether or not I should ask the question that is practically burning a hole through my tongue.
"What-what did he say about you and about the idea of a divorce?" I hesitantly inquire.
To my surprise, she laughs, but it's not her usual infectious, bubbly, perky, smile-inducing laugh, though. This foreign laugh is bitter, spiteful, disgusted, and hateful.
"What didn't he say? Apparently I'm a worthless, pathetic, coward of a slut that no man will ever love."
"You can't possibly believe him, right?"
She stays silent, her gaze flickering out across the front yard.
"Right? Demi, please tell me you don't believe him."
"I-," she rolls her eyes upwards. "I don't want to believe him, but-,"
"No buts, Demi. I want a straight answer. Do you believe him?"
"Yeah," she quietly admits.
Shaking my head, I passionately mold my lips to hers in a long, slow kiss.
"Don't believe what he says because none of it's true."
"But no-,"
"I love you, okay? I've loved you since our Disney days, and I can promise you that that love has never faded. I get that you're married, and my cliché, sappy confession is the last thing you probably want to hear right now, but-,"
To my surprise, she cuts me off with a kiss, much like the one I gave her. With a small, almost shy looking smile, she tucks a strand of her dark hair behind her ear, rises to her feet, and enters the house.
To say I'm confused would be an understatement.
When inside, I find Bailey and Jordan still in their same seats from earlier, but Demi is standing, hovering over an open manila folder and a pen. I'm about to ask what's going on when Demi speaks.
"Jordan, how do you feel about your dad?"
"Honestly?"
Demi nods.
"I'll always love him, but I'm-I'm scared of him, mom. I honestly am petrified of living under the same roof as him."
My eyes widen as my eyebrows raise. No child should be scared of a parent, ever.
"Are those divorce papers?" Jordan inquires, referring to the papers in the folder.
Demi nods.
"Sign them."
"What?" Demi shrills.
"Sign them, mom, please. He hurt you, and he hurt Bailey. I just want you to be happy."
"What about your happiness, Jordan?"
"How can I be happy living in fear of your next argument with him? Just sign the papers."
I walk over to Demi and place what I hope is a comforting hand on the small of her back. With a shaking hand, she signs, initials, and dates all of the forms, then closes the folder.
"Now all we have left is court," I murmur before kissing her cheek.
The girls stare with wide eyes and beaming grins.
"What was that?" Bailey continues to grin.
"A kiss on the cheek?" I confusedly reply.
She shakes her head.
"It was a Nemi kiss on the cheek!"
"Nemi's our ship name," Demi helpfully supplies.
"You ship us?" I ask Bailey.
She keenly nods
"What about you, Jordan?"
"You seem like a decent guy, and you make mom really happy, so I guess you can say that I ship you two."
"In that case.."
I twirl Demi around so that she's facing me and kiss her. Bailey loudly squeals before running towards us and wrapping her arms around us.
"Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!" She chants before running back to Jordan.
"Nemi kissed, Jordan! Nemi fucking kissed!" She exclaims before dramatically flopping onto her back. "My life is complete," she sighs.
ns 15.158.2.247da2
